


Just a Shirt

by Weiila



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weiila/pseuds/Weiila
Summary: Extreme situations call for quick thinking, bravery and inventive solutions. Sig proves why he's a true survivor and friend when he needs to quickly - VERY quickly - hide Jak after the Demolition Duo fails a vital mission they got from Krew.





	Just a Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: It’s my firm headcanon that Jinx and Tess are brother and sister. Just look at them, they look like genderswaps of each other. It’s got very little to do with this story, but there’s one detail that’ll be clearer if you know that philosophy of mine.  
> Thanks to Ardeej for the betaing!

Krew was frantic.

He was so frantic that he hadn’t eaten in two hours, and that had pretty much all the thugs still in the Hip Hog cowering in fear of what would happen next. There were just a handful, Sig included, only the ones required to be there by Krew. All of them waiting, like their boss.

They weren’t sure for what, exactly, but they couldn’t leave until the delivery arrived and Krew sent them on whatever he wanted them to do with it. The problem was, it should have arrived three hours ago. None of the underlings knew what was in the shipment, but not having it in his grasp had Krew antsy to a frightening degree. He swung back and forth through the air grumbling to himself, checking his communicator over and over again, and snarled at anybody who as much as coughed.

Things weren’t made any better by the fact that his communicator was dead, as was all the others’. The devices still had their stored data, but their main function was knocked out and had been for the last couple of days. The official word was that it was the Underground’s doing, when everyone with brains should realize that they were as impaired as everyone else by the situation. A lightning strike or metal heads seemed much, much more likely.

It didn’t really matter in the long run. Right now, it only meant that Krew couldn’t get a report from the courier – or the courier’s life guards.

The door to the kitchen creaked, making everyone twist their heads around. Tess, however, didn’t even flinch at the tense attention, stepping through with a plate of sandwiches in one hand and another with a huge steak sandwich in the other.

Even Sig followed her movements with awe as she headed straight for Krew and raised the one big sandwich towards him.

 “Come on, boss,” she said, showing off more bravery than most of the men in the bar could pride themselves with. “This isn’t good for your health. I could hear your tummy rumbling from the kitchen.” And then, just as he tilted forwards to growl bloody murder at her, she looked him straight in the eye and sweetly added, “what would your daughter say if she knew you weren’t taking care of yourself?”

Krew paused.

Everyone held their breath.

With a grunt, Krew snatched the sandwich from the plate and started chomping it down, breadcrumbs and meat juices spreading down his chin. Looking as cheerful as ever, Tess put both the plates on the bar and told the awestruck thugs to eat something. They mumbled some awkward thanks, but appetites were already scarce even before they were treated to the sight of their boss having a snack.

Tess disappeared into the back of the bar again. When she returned, she was putting on her jacket.

 “See you tomorrow!” she chirped, as if nothing bad was going on.

Seeing a good excuse to finally get out with little fuss, Sig stood up from the booth he’d occupied.

 “I’ll walk ya, sprite,” he said. “It’s late and I’m out too.”

 “Just be ready if I call you to find and wring that little hotshot and his pet rat’s necks!” Krew snarled. He paused and threw a glance at his communicator, then swore under his breath.

Sig made a non-committal sound, but unlike everyone else he caught Tess’s flinch. Both of them let their shoulders fall as they exited into the – sort of – fresh air of the harbor, the door softly sliding shut behind them.

 “Jak wouldn’t run off with whatever it was,” Tess muttered as they walked down along the water, towards the industrial section.

 “Ain’t no way,” Sig agreed.

Neither of them felt any better by the reassurance, though. It was very obvious that the only excuse Krew _might_ accept for a failure would be “they’re dead.”

 “They prolly just had to hunker down along the way,” Sig said. “Jak won’t let anything stop him. An’ Daxter can just squirrel off in a pinch.”

Tess looked up at him and tried to smile, but she had used up all she had by playing perfectly unaffected back in the Hip Hog. In silence she climbed into his parked zoomer once they found it – not where he had parked it, but at least whoever who’d borrowed it had been smart enough to put it back – and remained quiet as he drove her home. Sig let it be. There was nothing he could say but empty reassurances, and that wasn’t his style – she preferred not to be babied, too.

Once he had set Tess off safely, Sig drove on to his own apartment.

Somehow, he knew something was off even as he climbed the stairs.

The moment he unlocked the door and opened it, he smelled blood. Sig didn’t hesitate. He swept the door open and was greeted with the sight of Jak – sitting on the floor in the small main room of the apartment, leaning against a ratty armchair and clutching his upper left arm with a crimson-stained cloth.

 “Cherry?”

Sig shut the door behind him and rushed over to hunch down beside the younger man.

 “I tried not to bleed on anything,” Jak grunted.

At Sig’s urging Jak eventually let up, revealing a blood-soaked bandage tied haphazardly around his arm over the shirt. Bright red had run down most of the sleeve. Muttering a curse, Sig went to find the small box of medical supplies he had in the bathroom, as well as any clean towel he could get his hands on.

There were several questions he needed to ask, that he knew Krew would have expected him to ask before he even thought about tending to Jak’s wounds, but Sig had enough decency to give it a minute. He also reasoned that Jak wasn’t stupid enough to come running to Krew’s right-hand man if he was really in trouble with the mafia boss.

Jak bore it without a sound as Sig removed the used bandage and cleaned the wound. The bullet had torn through the flesh of Jak’s arm – some would have called it a bad graze, and they’d just be trying to make it sound less painful than it was.

All the movement started up the bleeding again which made it difficult to see, but Sig couldn’t put on any eco salve before he was sure there was no cloth stuck in the wound. Only when he felt certain of that did he open the three packs he had and let all of it pour down on the torn, exposed muscles. The pinpricks of green eco flowed straight out of the salve and into Jak’s flesh, slowing the bleeding. Jak breathed out as the wound closed a little bit right before their very eyes. It wasn’t enough, however.

Sig put on several pieces of padding and wrapped them tightly with bandages. Still Jak said nothing, only tipped his sweat matted head backwards.

Settling back and wiping the blood off his hands with a stained towel, Sig narrowed his eye. There was no getting around the hard questions anymore.

 “Please tell me ya didn’t let that shipment slip outta your grip, Jak,” he said.

Jak grit his teeth so hard it was audible, but he straightened up and looked at Sig, unflinching.

 “The courier… he shot me in the back,” Jak said. “He took the package. Daxter went after him.”

The news filled the atmosphere with a heavy silence as the two men looked at each other.

Sig knew who the Demolition Duo had been ordered to protect. That guy had been with Krew for years. Jak had shown himself capable and useful, but he was still fresh meat and had made no secret about having an agenda of his own. It was obvious whose word would weigh heavier, unless Daxter got the shipment back.

But Jak had eyes that couldn’t lie, and he silently stared straight at Sig, asking to be believed. And thinking back, Sig realized that this wasn’t the first time a new recruit had failed a mission with that particular courier.

If Krew thought, even for a second, that Sig had hidden Jak away from punishment – execution – for failing this mission, Sig’s presence and his own mission in Haven would be jeopardized.

Sig studied the young, haggard man and made his choice.

 “Okay,” Sig grimly said. “I gotcha. But I ain’t gonna be able to keep ya safe from Krew if everything comes crashing down.”

 “I won’t give you trouble,” Jak said. He sounded testy, but he heavily thumped back against the side of the armchair with obvious relief.

Sig nodded and left it at that, getting to his feet to get Jak some water and ration bars. Then he went about gathering up the bloody pieces of cloth that laid everywhere to toss them in the wash bag, and clean the crimson stains off of the floor.

All they could do now was wait.

Jak ate half a ration bar and drank several glasses of water as another hour wore on, nodding off against the armchair until Sig told him to lie down in the bed. Then the younger man shuffled over there and lay down on his good side, face turned to the wall. He seemed calm, despite the fact that he must be aware of his situation. Krew hadn’t spared any warnings about messing this one up.

He must really trust Daxter, Sig figured.

Still waiting, Sig checked his communicator only to find that the network was still out. It bothered him less than it had earlier in the day, he found.

In that moment he felt the weight of the long, tense day and pulled his helmet off of his shaved head. The rest of the armor followed, carefully laid out on the floor. Standing in just his soft undershirt and pants, he did a few tired stretches. Jak glanced around at him, but settled back again.

There was nothing they could do except wait for fate to come to them, in the form of news from Daxter.

However, Daxter was not the one who showed up first.

All of a sudden there was a sound of heavy, running feet from the stairwell outside. Both Jak and Sig twisted their heads towards the door, then towards the window. Jak got up, holding his arm, and moved towards the only exit.

Sig clearly saw that he’d never be able to climb down the rickety fire escape ladder outside, not with that arm.

A fist banged on the door.

 “Sig!” a rough voice shouted. Sig instantly recognized it as belonging to Umaro, one of Krew’s least savory thugs. He had been one of the men waiting in the Hip Hog, too. “Get outta there, we’re going hunting!”

Jak tried to open the latch on the window with just one hand, lips drawing back from his gritted teeth. Pain drained the color from his face, but he wouldn’t falter. Couldn’t falter. The apartment was so small that it was possible to see the whole place from the entrance – even the bathroom, since there wasn’t even a door on that room. There was nowhere to hide.

It was a split second decision.

Sig grabbed Jak’s good arm and pulled him around, lifting a finger to his own lips to hush the younger man’s half-strangled protest.

While the banging on the door faltered for a moment, only to come back with another impatient shout a couple of seconds later, Sig drew Jak over to the simple bed on the floor and pulled the blanket aside. Jak gave him a doubtful look, but threw one glance at the door and then sunk down on the plain mattress. Quickly, Sig spread the blanket over him and pulled at his hair so that the only thing visible of Jak was several long, blond locks of hair spread over the pillow.

 “Don’t move,” Sig muttered.

 “Sig, get the fuck out already! We ain’t got time for this!” Umaro shouted.

 Clenching his teeth Sig pulled his shirt off and tossed it in a corner.

Then he stalked across the floor, turned the key in the lock and ripped the door open.

 “ _What_?!” he snarled.

Umaro had been a criminal since before he was a teen, working his way up from pickpocket to street fighter to heavy gunner. Somehow he had kept both his eyes, but several teeth were replaced with metal, which he loved to show off in constant nasty grins, only making his scarred face even more hideous.

But even he balked at the sight of a huge, furious and half-naked Wastelander. Sig glared down at the thug and made a sharp jab with his thumb towards the apartment. One nervous glance informed Umaro that Sig had company in his bed, in the form of somebody with long, blonde hair.

 “Uh…”

Raising his tattooed hands in a pacifying manner – possibly for the first time in his life – Umaro stepped back.

 “Bad timing?” he said.

Sig just glared.

 “Okay, okay, okay, dude,” Umaro blabbered. “I’ll, uh… call ya. When it works, I mean. Won’t tell Krew. Cool?”

 “Good,” Sig said, in a tone of voice normally used for delivering death threats.

Umaro took another, wise step backwards. Then he paused, and allowed curiosity overtake any semblance of good sense.

 “Is that Tess?” he whispered.

Sig leaned forwards until he almost knocked his forehead into the other man’s face, even as Umaro bent backwards to get away.

 “Why doncha go ask Jinx that?” Sig slowly said in a low voice.

Even Mog would have gotten the message at that point. Wheezing out a panicked apology, Umaro fled down the stairs. Sig withdrew and slammed the door shut, locking it again. He stared at it for a moment and then let out a deep sigh.

 “All clear, cherry,” he said in a soft voice, walking back into the combined living-/bedroom.

Jak pulled the blanket down, question about what exactly had happened apparent on his face. He watched Sig bend down to pick up his shirt, and realization dawned. Jak’s good hand flew up to his face to muffle a mute chortle as his face contorted with laughter, then pain and laughter at the same time as the quick motion rocked his wounded arm.

Sig couldn’t help but chuckle, despite everything.

Before he could pull the shirt on, though, there was a low tapping from the window. Both he and Jak turned to look, seeing Daxter leaning into view and waving at them. The easy grin on the ottsel's face was promising, at least. Sig hurried over to let him in, and Daxter leapt from the ladder outside to the floor as easy as anything – despite the fact that he carried Jak’s communicator strapped onto his back.

 “Lookin’ good there, champ,” Daxter said with a theatrical wink, wagging his fingers at Sig’s chest.

 “Did you get it back?” Sig demanded, not in the mood for jokes. The risk he had just taken for Jak was completely forfeit, as were the boys’ lives, if there wasn’t a good response to that question.

His heart dropped when Daxter shook his head. However, the ottsel smirked triumphantly and patted the communicator on his back.

 “Couldn’t get a chance to nab it. But I got a whole bunch’a really sexy pictures of our pal selling the package to some KGs.”

Jak’s shoulders dropped, and Sig rubbed his forehead with a grim twist of his mouth.

 “Well, the boss still ain’t gonna like it, but at least your heads won’t be rollin’,” Sig said. He spared them the information that they’d probably be the ones taking care of the real traitor. Then again, Jak probably wouldn’t mind dealing pain to somebody who had tried to sell him out.

 “Yeah, thankfully,” Daxter said as he shook off the communicator and flopped down to boot it up.

Sig hunched down and Jak shuffled over to look, and Daxter flipped through the photos. They weren’t the best, taken in dinky light with a camera that wasn’t that good to begin with, but it clearly showed the courier making the exchange with a captain and two guards. There wouldn’t be any talking his way out of this one.

 “Okay,” Sig said and went to grab his communicator, placing it on the floor beside Jak’s. “Try to copy ‘em over to mine, an’ I’ll go show ‘em to Krew. He may not give you boys a chance to cough up the intel.”

 “Gotcha,” Daxter said and pulled out a connection wire from the device before him, to hook up with Sig’s. He set it up and pushed a few buttons, peering at the screen. “Piece o’ crap says it’ll take five minutes, which prolly means twenty. Got any snacks? I’m starving.”

 “I’ll getcha tea and biscuits for a job well done,” Sig said with a chuckle and headed for the kitchen.

 “Can ya serve ‘em without the shirt on? It’s a nice view,” Daxter called after him.

Sig balled up the shirt in his hand and threw it at Daxter, while Jak laughed and cringed at the same time.

**The End.**


End file.
